chikka-bow
[Remember, these are meant to be spoken, not read. Performed and thereby retired Feb 4, 2007, for the first night of KPP.]
logic is a state of mind
behind which we cannot survive
we strive to make it all make sense
but there is nothing.
there is no reason to reason
no proof of proof
and i just can't stop thinking about how i'm always thinking about thinking how i'm thinking about thinking of my thoughts.
in what way can i learn? in what way can i know?
if everything that i believe says i can't do so?
if i am so inconstant and my knowledge such a lie
then what keeps me from laying down and just waiting--
i live within a logic, i can't escape its grasp
i live by applying it like venom from an asp
tainting all reality and blah blah blah blah blah
but what good does THIS do me?
I find myself arguing against my method of argument
and feeling like my feelings are wrong
If I can escape this,
if can go free
yes, perhaps I can try to objectively see
What I need is a hurricane
a tsunami of sorts
where semantics and reason are dashed into bits
I must create a maelstrom
of unsensibility
to get any freedom in my grubby mitts.
So I’m telling you now that I am not speaking!
And that what I assert is a lie!
There is no language
there is no sound
there is no life and no reason why.
there is no “there”
I can now smell the past
I am not here
there are four lights
and I can look forward to my birthing at last.
…
It didn’t work.
I’m still stuck here
With all of you people
and ravaged with fear
logic is my monarch
and if I wish a coup
I will need a greater power
to tell me what to do
nothing has approached me
or made itself quite clear
and I don’t know where to look
but I know I can’t stay here.
logic is my monarch…
or is that quite true?
is it simply something I said
to endear myself to you?
is reason something from within
which has been nurtured so
that every other kind of thought
is cut out from the show?
Empiricism, rationale…
They’re comfy, like an old green couch
smelly sometimes, sunken always
but so familiar.
a known quantity is my worse enemy
something I accept because it’s there
maybe it’s subpar, or just plain crappy
but that shit’ll never surprise me. [This wasn't actually read, so it's no longer part of the poem]
I think we know where this is going
so come on, let’s get in the car.
We’re going to the Brain Ikea
I need a new couch.
------
information information information overload
when I’m walking when I’m sleeping when I’m driving on the road
holy shit my mind is lit
with names and brands and what to drink
implying that i’m lying
to myself if I try to think
I can’t believe in all my thoughts
I cannot trust in what I dream
I know not of what I speak
but am to scared to even scream
there are more dimensions than three
more axes than x y z
I know this cause I feel them all
piercing stabbing stretching pulling eating loving nudging mulling falling acting feigning changing everything I ever knew
telling me that I’m not true
on every side I am besotten
by memories and lies forgotten
haunting now that they are free
making fools of you to me
constantly reliving anger
forever stuck in mental danger
why can I not flee the scene
why must I be thin and lean
why don’t we just get along
why do I know every song
information emanations fill the nations of the world
there is a something
there is a nothing
I cannot explain
language is a lie
brain is under pressure
thoughts are self-enclosing
the brainship that I’m helming
is always underwhelming
clear water is a luxury dearly to be sought
I’m sailing over icebergs now, the wood’s begun to rot
the journey’s kinda shaky and the goal is long forgot
and I cannot be sleepy now I’ve lost the train of thought
on which I would have slept all night
in a small but comfy cot
now though I have nothing but
adrenaline, and not a lot
whirling swirling bicep curling
for the purposes of what
I cannot defeat my life
I cannot control my stance
i cannot explain my thoughts
nor why they seem to love this dance
of back and forth and up and down and in and out and
I cannot.
I can. not.
I can not. I can now. I can whenever I please
I can fish and I can coffee and I can seven types of cheese
I can do what I believe
and I can trust in what I am
even now I’m doing it here
even then I had no fear
later on I’ll take a chance
earlier I put on pants
how can thinking make it so
if nothing’s good or bad?
where would all my thoughts of thoughts have come from
how could I have stayed alive
when could I have been all anxious
why would I have learned to drive
who would I have ever talked to
what would I have done, in short
if nothing were remotely good or true and I could not believe in you
you hold the answer
you are what is true
and I’m going to find you out
if it’s the last damn thing I do
logic is a state of mind
behind which we cannot survive
we strive to make it all make sense
but there is nothing.
there is no reason to reason
no proof of proof
and i just can't stop thinking about how i'm always thinking about thinking how i'm thinking about thinking of my thoughts.
in what way can i learn? in what way can i know?
if everything that i believe says i can't do so?
if i am so inconstant and my knowledge such a lie
then what keeps me from laying down and just waiting--
i live within a logic, i can't escape its grasp
i live by applying it like venom from an asp
tainting all reality and blah blah blah blah blah
but what good does THIS do me?
I find myself arguing against my method of argument
and feeling like my feelings are wrong
If I can escape this,
if can go free
yes, perhaps I can try to objectively see
What I need is a hurricane
a tsunami of sorts
where semantics and reason are dashed into bits
I must create a maelstrom
of unsensibility
to get any freedom in my grubby mitts.
So I’m telling you now that I am not speaking!
And that what I assert is a lie!
There is no language
there is no sound
there is no life and no reason why.
there is no “there”
I can now smell the past
I am not here
there are four lights
and I can look forward to my birthing at last.
…
It didn’t work.
I’m still stuck here
With all of you people
and ravaged with fear
logic is my monarch
and if I wish a coup
I will need a greater power
to tell me what to do
nothing has approached me
or made itself quite clear
and I don’t know where to look
but I know I can’t stay here.
logic is my monarch…
or is that quite true?
is it simply something I said
to endear myself to you?
is reason something from within
which has been nurtured so
that every other kind of thought
is cut out from the show?
Empiricism, rationale…
They’re comfy, like an old green couch
smelly sometimes, sunken always
but so familiar.
a known quantity is my worse enemy
something I accept because it’s there
maybe it’s subpar, or just plain crappy
but that shit’ll never surprise me. [This wasn't actually read, so it's no longer part of the poem]
I think we know where this is going
so come on, let’s get in the car.
We’re going to the Brain Ikea
I need a new couch.
------
information information information overload
when I’m walking when I’m sleeping when I’m driving on the road
holy shit my mind is lit
with names and brands and what to drink
implying that i’m lying
to myself if I try to think
I can’t believe in all my thoughts
I cannot trust in what I dream
I know not of what I speak
but am to scared to even scream
there are more dimensions than three
more axes than x y z
I know this cause I feel them all
piercing stabbing stretching pulling eating loving nudging mulling falling acting feigning changing everything I ever knew
telling me that I’m not true
on every side I am besotten
by memories and lies forgotten
haunting now that they are free
making fools of you to me
constantly reliving anger
forever stuck in mental danger
why can I not flee the scene
why must I be thin and lean
why don’t we just get along
why do I know every song
information emanations fill the nations of the world
there is a something
there is a nothing
I cannot explain
language is a lie
brain is under pressure
thoughts are self-enclosing
the brainship that I’m helming
is always underwhelming
clear water is a luxury dearly to be sought
I’m sailing over icebergs now, the wood’s begun to rot
the journey’s kinda shaky and the goal is long forgot
and I cannot be sleepy now I’ve lost the train of thought
on which I would have slept all night
in a small but comfy cot
now though I have nothing but
adrenaline, and not a lot
whirling swirling bicep curling
for the purposes of what
I cannot defeat my life
I cannot control my stance
i cannot explain my thoughts
nor why they seem to love this dance
of back and forth and up and down and in and out and
I cannot.
I can. not.
I can not. I can now. I can whenever I please
I can fish and I can coffee and I can seven types of cheese
I can do what I believe
and I can trust in what I am
even now I’m doing it here
even then I had no fear
later on I’ll take a chance
earlier I put on pants
how can thinking make it so
if nothing’s good or bad?
where would all my thoughts of thoughts have come from
how could I have stayed alive
when could I have been all anxious
why would I have learned to drive
who would I have ever talked to
what would I have done, in short
if nothing were remotely good or true and I could not believe in you
you hold the answer
you are what is true
and I’m going to find you out
if it’s the last damn thing I do